Infertility can put you in a dark place, and it can rear its ugly head when you least expect it. Mother’s Day should have been the perfect time to celebrate my own loving mother and wonderful mother-in-law, but living far away from family then had me feeling selfish.

When you’re struggling with infertility, babies enter your mind countless times a day. And not just in the jealousy of seeing a new mom pushing a stroller, or the countless pregnancy announcements on Facebook. Your whole future seems blurry and full of what-ifs. The size of your family quietly creeps into daily decisions.

It’s okay to cry.  It’s okay to be angry, to feel betrayed by your own body.  It’s okay to feel bitter when your friends share miraculous stories about getting pregnant on the first try.  It’s okay to sit quietly as one of your friends complains about their pregnancy, and then excuse yourself to go sob silently in the bathroom.

We all know laughter is an amazing thing. It boosts our immune systems, alleviates pain, and reduces stress. So why don’t we do it more often? Why do we take ourselves so darn seriously?

I don’t remember what started the disagreement with my 11-year-old daughter. Maybe it was a late math assignment or a missing permission slip. But I’ll never forget the sorrow-filled way she looked up at me from her bedroom floor, tears streaming down her face, as she asked: “Mom? Why don’t you like me?”

Like a hard slap in the face, it occurs to me that my phone not only distracts me from relishing in my fondest memories, but it also prevents me from making new ones. Ironically, the very device that stores and organizes much of my life simultaneously robs me of enjoying and being fully present in it.

It is the 5 (10 on a good day) minutes of the day where I can stop, think, and not be “on”.  Don’t get me wrong. I have a job that I love. But being a teacher, I am “on” all day long.  It’s an honor and a blessing, but it’s also exhausting. 

What do you do to take care of yourself, or how do you choose to spend your quiet moments? Wishing you plenty of quiet moments to yourself that make you thankful for your noise.

The day was winding down, and the mess from the party had been cleaned up.  I no longer had a 4-year-old, but a 5-year-old.  Despite her obvious tiredness, my daughter was still beaming from the day's festivities.

The below post was submitted by guest contributor, Ashlee Rahmlow.  Thank you, Ashlee, for writing about your experience with Postpartum Anxiety, and, for offering support for so many others.